My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

“Or at least we thought you did…”

The next part of Evangeline’s words struck Damon with a sensation that left him suspended between confusion and relief.

They didn’t think I had died?

But he had died. Thoroughly, unmistakably. He couldn’t have been more dead if he tried. Not just dead—obliterated. On the brink of being erased from existence itself.

What changed their minds?

If it was fear of him rising as undead that held them back from burial, they could’ve simply cremated him and been done with it. Yet they hadn’t. And Evangeline continued to speak.

“We had initially assumed the Keeper was the one who killed you… so in a fit of rage, we tried to kill him… but as you can imagine, we lost…”

Leona bit her lower lip, her expression tightening. Humans—so often driven by emotion—seldom considered odds when grief clouded their minds.

“The Keeper let us go… he just left. He had someone to mourn, so he let us mourn our own fallen…”

Damon nodded slowly. That would make sense. When the Keeper of False Truths had reappeared, he hadn’t come to confront them. He had come to mourn Nemoriel in his final moments.

All according to the Unknown God’s scheme.

Nemoriel’s purpose had never been to fight, but to deliver messages… clues.

The writings on the walls, the name of the pillar of conflict—those had been the true signs. And even one clue had been enough to kill him.

“…Why didn’t you bury me?”

Xander clenched his fists tightly.

“We had been sure you were dead… accepting it took a while. We had to let go. I carried your cold corpse with my own hands…”

None of the girls had been able to bring themselves to touch Damon’s body. They’d stood frozen, as if burying him meant acknowledging the unbearable.

So Xander had stepped forward. He’d forced himself to be strong.

Valarie had tried to speak to him then. Told him to get a grip.

Matia’s voice came, her cheeks streaked with dried blood and pain carved into her features.

“We did think you were dead. But you weren’t. Sylvia insisted you were alive…”

Evangeline bit her lips, her eyes flickering with guilt.

“Honestly, at the time, there was no basis for it. We actually thought she had gone insane from the grief…”

Damon glanced at Sylvia. A small smile tugged at his lips.

She awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck.

“I may have threatened to kill everyone if they didn’t listen…”

Valarie chuckled dryly.

“Which only convinced us she had gone mad… I mean, it was two days after. From the blood you lost to your cold corpse—there was no way you would be alive. All biological functions had ceased. Even your shadow wasn’t moving…”

Damon nodded slowly. An accurate assessment…

Leona pressed her lips together.

“We made it out of the Forbidden Library… Sylvia was unconscious at that point. But I heard it. I heard… a heartbeat.”

Evangeline exhaled, arms crossed tightly against her chest.

“We also suspected Leona was being pulled under by grief… But then Sylvia woke up. This time, she was a little calmer…”

Xander scratched the back of his head, as if the memory still embarrassed him.

“She explained to us she had a vision… of you leading us out of Lysithara on a dark night…”

He paused.

“Honestly, more than anything—we wanted to believe. Against all odds, we needed to believe you were still alive.”

Matia looked at Damon with quiet intensity.

“And then it happened. Your shadow moved…”

Sylvia spoke, her eyes fixed on him.

“We had been in a hurry to bury you… because we didn’t want your corpse defiled. Or turned into an undead…” Her voice cracked.

“So… my wanting to keep you was selfish. Honestly, a small part of me didn’t care if you did become undead, as long as I could see you… but I also knew that wouldn’t really be you.”

She placed a trembling hand over her eyes as tears began to stream down.

“I’m… I’m sorry…”

Damon said nothing. He merely stepped forward and gently stroked her head, his touch warm despite the cold silence around them.

So they hadn’t known. That was… good. Because it would be impossible to explain that he had been killed by the hands of the goddess. Or that he had been dragged back by the Unknown God, provoking every true being in existence, nearly getting erased from reality. That he had died, been devoured, recreated, hidden in a dream—while the Unknown God fought off divine entities.

Then brought him back.

He almost felt like a character from some ancient myth. At least he wasn’t as unlucky as the Demon Lord of Domination—Ashcroft—who had been slain in the temple of the goddess, where her power was strongest.

Damon, in contrast, had died in a place where the Unknown God was glorified. So he had a better chance.

Still… hadn’t the Unknown God also ordained Ashcroft’s return?

He remained silent as they began to recount the past 31 days.

They had discovered a teleportation gate—but it was useless without the City Lord’s key. So they turned their attention to a waypoint. They’d found one—guarded by a fifth-class monster. And gave up.

Weeks passed. They searched, carried Damon’s corpse, enduring the stench of death, the toll on their minds, the burden of hope.

They were besieged by monsters. Creatures that only grew more cunning with each encounter, as if someone—or something—was orchestrating their suffering.

Eventually, they found another waypoint, guarded by a weaker monster. They tricked it, bypassed it, and used the waypoint.

Only to discover the city’s waypoints didn’t connect to the outside world.

Every effort, every escape route, led back to Lysithara.

More cunning attacks followed. So they found the mansion. Fortified it. And made it their base.

Leona had insisted on a mansion—because Damon would have wanted one.

In the days that followed, they cleared out weaker monsters. They hunted the source of the cunning that stalked them.

Again and again.

But it never stopped.

Damon clenched his fists.

They’ve been through so much… all while dragging my lifeless body along.

He could barely imagine the weight of it. The emotional strain. The hopelessness.

“I didn’t die…”

He finally whispered.

Lifting his head slowly.

“Let’s get out of this city… we walk right out the gates…”

Most of the distance had already been covered while he was unconscious.

This—this was the final stretch of their journey.